


Angels

by TwoWeevils



Category: NCIS
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-02
Updated: 2006-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoWeevils/pseuds/TwoWeevils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd learned to walk in heels when she was eleven. Learned to run in them when she was twenty-three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels

The day she met Gibbs, she was wearing a pair of low-heeled pumps. They looked good with her navy dress pants and gave her the height she needed. Possibly not the most practical footwear for Presidential protection duty, but it wasn't like she'd be expected to run alongside _Air Force One_. And Kate liked to look good. She liked to wear the right shoe with the right outfit. She'd learned to walk in heels when she was eleven. Learned to run in them when she was twenty-three.

She definitely wasn't crazy about the work boots. She'd been having dinner with friends, wearing her new suede sling backs with the square toe, when she got Tony's call. The scene was outdoors--a Marine dangling from a tree by his parachute lines. Gibbs had handed her the boots and, of course, he'd guessed her size. They were heavy and she felt awkward in them. But they did the trick.

After that, she'd kept the boots in her car and bought a second pair to keep at the office in a box under her desk along with soap, deodorant, a toothbrush, a change of underwear, and other toiletries. Working for Gibbs, you had to be prepared for anything: interviewing sailors on a submarine, flying to Gitmo at a moment’s notice, climbing up things, crawling under things, jumping off of things, running after things, running away from things--and, sometimes, just sitting and waiting. Kate liked to be prepared, but she was rarely able to anticipate Gibbs.

On that last day, she _had_ been prepared. She'd dressed seriously, for serious work. All black, to match the Kevlar vest, and thick-soled, lace-up shoes. Fluevog Angels--they were the right shoes for _that_ outfit. They weren't pretty, but she could run in them. She could climb. She could throw herself in the path of a bullet meant for Gibbs. And, in that moment, she was glad to be wearing those shoes.

But in another moment she was gone.

If she'd only known. If she'd only anticipated. Because those [flat, black, round-toed, top-stitched, inelegant clodhoppers? ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/twoweevils/2026209/1632/1632_original.jpg)_So_ not the shoes she wanted to die in.


End file.
